A World of Mischief and Magic (and Dragons!)
by TwinDragons0268
Summary: This is a compilation of lore, all from Flight Rising (the website) and all centered around the dragons that lie / So far, these works were all freely commissioned by users on the site, and I decided to upload them here. Why not? Each story is different and, in simpler terms, it's just a bunch of one-shots. If you want me to write about any of your dragons, comment! :D


Ahh! I remember when I first opened up my forum post, and this was the first lil' drabble that was requested. Memories! I think that at the beginning of each chapter I'll give a little info about the dragons in the story, just so you (the reader) understand a bit more. If you don't get any of the vocabulary used, FR has a wiki page that is absolutely full of everything you need to know, so if in doubt, check there :)

Tinuel: A female Fae of the Wind Flight. She is an artist and accompanies her mate, Dalcenti, on lots of his merchanting escapades.

Dalcenti: A male Tundra of the Wind Flight. He is the Lead Merchant of his clan and is in charge of a great many dragons in a similar profession. His work takes him many places, and he has a friendly, reliable personality and often can be found with his best friend (though not mentioned in this fic), Fucher, and mate, Tinuel.

If anyone was wondering who these two belong to, their username is Juri01 and you should totally check them out! (If you play the game, that is)

Hope you enjoy!~

* * *

The small fae huffed and curled tighter around the flat boulder, grumbling. Curse this godforsaken cold. Curse this godforsaken land! Curse her NO GOOD, IDIOTIC MATE for dragging her out onto this ice cube for the sake of his profits! Honestly! Does the fact that she could be freezing her tail off even _matter_ to that bumbling idiot? Of course not- he's a Tundra. He was practically _made_ for this climate. But her, a small, fragile Fae? As if. Practically no dragons but Tundras were intended for this vast field of ice, yet here she was. On a rock. Freezing her scales off. And for what? A few measly bags of treasure and some credit for trekking out here? In Tinuel's obviously _right_ opinion, it wasn't worth it- not in the slightest.

Pulling her wings in closer, she tightly shut her eyes and dreamt- not slept, per say, but simply dreamt.

She was once again in her home in the windy plains, away from ice and cold and frost. She was flying, flying high and letting the delicious wind flow through her frills- oh how amazing that felt!

And finally, she was back at home, in her beloved art room, with nothing other than a canvas, paints, and her trusty brush. With even strokes, she created a scene on the blank canvas, much like the one she had just experienced. A lone dragon with no worries whatsoever, simply giving itself to the wind- to the sky.

Adding more colors now, Tinuel's strokes became longer, faster. More frenzied, as if every single movement of the brush counted for her- for herself, and her freedom.

No longer would she be shackled to the petty life of merchanting, no. She could enjoy the rest of her existence as an ambassador of the sky, a damsel of the clouds. She herself could be a paintbrush if she wished- on particular days the clouds had the perfect consistency of paint- and paint she would. Just add one more dash there and-

A talon poked her in the side and Tinuel's eyes flew open, shooting to the reptilian figure next to her, shrouded by the blowing snow. Shivering, she once again curled into herself, wishing for the world to be back in her amazing land of dreams. But, alas, reality had its own plans.

"Tinny," he said.

"Hello...? Tinuel. Are you okay?" She turned her small head to the great big furry beast next to her, and she nodded. However, as much as she sometimes loathed him for dragging her along on his foolhardy missions, Tinuel couldn't stay mad at Dalcenti for long. He just wasn't that type of dragon. He also wasn't stupid, which would alternate between good and bad, depending on the situation.

Now, it seemed, would be one of the good times. He carefully cradled her small form and moved it to his chest, which was warm.

Really warm.

Shuddering into his heavy coat of fur, she realized that no, she couldn't hate this lump of a dragon for long, if at all.

Continuing to hold her with one hand and shouldering his pack with the other, Dalcenti began the long trek back to the shore, where a boat would be waiting to take them home.

Home, Tinuel realized, was not necessarily where the wind or the clouds or the sky lay; rather, it was where her heart lay. And be it through art or her wonderfully warm mate, Tinuel would never know. Hopefully, she would never have to choose, either.


End file.
